


Stuck Compass

by laliquey



Series: Nineteen Rooms [2]
Category: The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo - All Media Types, The Social Network (2010)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Coming of Age, Crossover Pairings, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Hacking, Love, Revenge, Rivalry, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-30 07:22:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1015759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laliquey/pseuds/laliquey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Continuation of <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/775255">Splash Page</a>. Lisbeth & Mark continue to spar, only Eduardo is no longer oblivious. Their rivalry gets increasingly ugly and results in damage and loss that makes all three of them back up and decide who they are, what they want, and how they will go forward.</p><p>For the <a href="http://thesocialbbang.livejournal.com/">TSN Big Bang 2013</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stuck Compass

**Author's Note:**

> [Fanart by badsketches](http://badsketches.livejournal.com/41273.html)  
> [Fanart by laenix](http://laenix.livejournal.com/2076.html)  
> [Playlist by me](http://pradazathecleaners.tumblr.com/post/64985211986)  
>  Beta services by [wardo_wedidit](http://archiveofourown.org/users/wardo_wedidit/pseuds/wardo_wedidit)
> 
> Reading the lead-up fic is helpful but probably not necessary - reading its header summary might be enough. I have plans for one more chunk of this, too! 
> 
>   _ **Warnings:** fleeting misogynistic comments, non-explicit descriptions of miscarriage_

** SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA **

Driving from Miami to San Francisco was practically a drunken dare they made by his parents’ pool – _ha ha, we should do this insane thing,_ but it’s gone about a million times better than Eduardo ever would have thought.

For one thing, seeing Mark at the shareholders’ meeting wasn’t as horrible as feared.

For another, he’s in love.

Lisbeth occasionally purports to feel the same, and considering he once joked that her biological makeup was half granite, he’s content with that. One three thousand mile road trip apparently wasn’t enough, so they’re heading north to see the Northern Lights.

“Green…Union…Filbert…” Eduardo isn't familiar enough with the city to drive well in it, much less find his way out. “Did I miss the left on Lombard?”

“I don't think so.”

“Oh, there it is. Shit, I forgot you wanted to drive by the house one more time.” 

She’d wanted to see it with the _SOLD_ sign out front. It was a spur-of-the-moment splurge that she didn’t even make, since having accounts in Gibraltar rendered it faster and more practical for Eduardo to buy it. She promised to pay him back. Maybe even with money. 

“You want me turn around?”

“No. We'll see it all the time when we're living there.” When he looks at her sideways, she adds, “What? I thought we might come back and stay for a while after this trip.”

He feigns irritation. “Were you maybe gonna run that by me?”

“What?” Lisbeth says with a teasing smile. “It's not like you've got any grand plans of your own.”

It stings - a lot - because it's true.

Still, it feels good to be back in the car again, and they take a quiet, scenic drive up the coast. It's funny to think of the percentage of their possessions (contents of Eduardo's Miami closet aside) that are in the trunk. It's been interesting to realize over the past month and a half just how little they really need.

“Maybe I should have asked earlier,” Eduardo says. “But the Northern Lights are worth it, right? ‘Cause this is gonna be the mother of all drives.” It frightens him a little that they’ll dip into the Yukon Territory, and he’s curious how many _paulistanos_ ever have.

“Technically Miami to here is a longer distance than here to Juneau, and that went well,” Lisbeth says. “Most of the time.”

“They're pretty, though, right?”

“I think you'll like them.” She settles back and lets him reach over and press his thumb into the roots of her neck. Some Brazilian warmth drives him to touch her all the time, but she's getting used to it, even learning to love it.

She relaxes into his touch and wonders how Mark's faring with the mess she left him that morning – she warned him he was going to pay for being shitty to her, and with his site thoroughly hacked and disabled, he probably is. It's not her fault he's carried a torch for Eduardo all this time and can’t contain his jealousy that he’s hers now. What a miserable human being…

They drive in silence for a while and stop mid-afternoon at a deserted beach for a stretch and a walk. They roll up their jeans into cuffs and Lisbeth nests her shoes inside Eduardo's and they head towards the water.

“Shit! It's cold!” Eduardo cries when it brushes his toes, but gets used to it after a few steps. “I’ve never set foot in the Pacific Ocean before. I’ve seen it from the air, but that’s it.” It's so cold and wild compared to the water he's used to.

Lisbeth settles into the shocking chill herself, and they walk hand-in-hand and have a serious conversation in Swedish and Portuguese. Neither understands the other, but they chat back-and-forth with intonation that feels almost like they do.

“I wish I knew more about you,” he says. “There’s probably a reason you never talk about yourself and I guess that’s fine. I just care about you a lot and I can’t help it.”

“I've been institutionalized and declared incompetent,” Lisbeth says. “My last guardian raped me, and I haven't told you any of this because it'll upset you and I don't want you to see me any differently.”

“I'm worried I'm a spoiled brat with no real skills or direction,” Eduardo says. “And all this money I haven't done much to earn makes me feel like I'm not a real man. I think it's a weakness my father's always seen in me and I don't know what to do about it.”

“Another reason I haven't told you is that I almost never think about those things anymore because I'm happy with you.”

“Do you think I'm a pussy?”

“You're very good at it. Just as good as Mimmi.”

“Maybe someday I'll have the balls to ask you what your commitment tolerance is in English. See what I mean about not being a man?”

“I said you're very good at it. By the way, I hacked in and temporarily killed a certain website this morning. I wonder how your old beau’s handling it? I can't stand him, by the way. The things he's done to you are inexcusable and I'm not fond of the way he treats me, either.”

“If it weren't for you I’d still be drunk and stupid by the pool at my parents' house. Thank God you kidnapped me on your motorcycle like you did, you sneaky pain in the ass.”

“The scar on my hip and the one on my shoulder aren't from infected spider bites like I told you.”

“I love you and I don't want to be without you. Ever.”

“I love you, too.”

“We should try to have sex in all 50 states of the union.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Eduardo switches to English and squeezes her hand. “Okay. Good talk.” 

 

** ARCATA, CALIFORNIA **

 

They've just checked into the latest nondescript hotel and Eduardo flips on the television. It defaults to CNN, and the Facebook story is the only story. It's being reported that entire Internet has been “taken down” and Facebook is the root.

“Oh my God…” He sits at the end of the bed and watches through a gap in his fingers, horrified. Lisbeth watches with minimal interest but panics inside when he fishes the little charger cord out of his bag and plugs in his phone.

“Weren't you letting that die?”

“I have to call Mark.”

“Don't,” Lisbeth says, and he must not have heard because it's not like him to ignore her.

Eduardo waits a few agonizing minutes for his phone to revive – he figures Mark's probably much too busy to answer, so it's a total surprise when he picks up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, I heard about the thing, and...are you okay?”

“We're getting it under control.”

“That really sucks, man.”

“Tell me about it,” Mark says. “Dustin, like, cried and stuff.” They listen to each other a moment, just breathing, remembering. “It’s all tied to the Like button.”

“Maybe someone doesn’t like you.”

“Yeah maybe.” Mark sounds amused at first but then asks, “Are you still hanging out with that weird girl?”

“Her name's Lisbeth, and yes. I am.”

“Are you still in town?”

“No, we're headed up the coast.”

“Why?”

“I dunno.” Eduardo isn't used to this much conversation with Mark and something doesn't feel right. “For something to do, I guess.”

“Can I please speak to her?”

He hands the phone to Lisbeth with a puzzled look. “He wants to talk to you.”

“Hello?” she says.

“I can't believe I didn't figure this out earlier, you fucking shrew...”

She turns her back to Eduardo, for all the good it will do. “Excuse me?”

“I'm about to tell Eduardo about your little hacking spree. You know he's gonna flip the fuck out, right?” His breathing is like a thready pulse and Lisbeth doesn't answer because he may be right. “Put him back on. Oh, and Lisbeth?”

“What?”

“Since I don't know you well enough to hurt you, I'm going to hurt Eduardo instead.”

“I'm not sure what you could do that you haven't already.”

“Bitch, please. What you don't know could fill a book.”

“Did you really just call me that?”

“I do at least ten times day. Put Eduardo back on. Oh, and Lisbeth? Ask him about the desk.”

She gives the phone back and to Eduardo waits, humming with nerves. “Uh huh,” he says. “Yeah. No. Mark, no. I don't think she'd do that. Yeah, I know. Okay. Well, whatever. What? I don't know what you want from me. Okay. Okay. Tell Dustin and Chris hi. Okay, bye.”

He hangs up with a sigh. “I thought we were done with the secrets and shit, Lisbeth.”

“I'm not keeping secrets. You said to stay out of your stuff, not his.”

“What reason did you have to get into his stuff?”

“He's an asshole. He was rude to me the night we met.”

“Really?” He softens. “Honey, why didn't you tell me? I would've...”

“It doesn't matter, and anyway, I did it.”

“The thing on the news.” He looks her up and down, this quiet, odd girl he loves. “You took down the Internet.”

“That's a gross exaggeration, but I wanted to make the point that I'm just as technically capable as he is – he seemed to not believe that when we met. He also called me a bitch just now.”

Eduardo angrily reaches for his phone but Lisbeth snatches it and holds it behind her back. “Don't. He's not worth it.”

Eduardo nods and sinks down to sit on the bed. “So...” he gestures vaguely towards the television. “How bad is this?”

“They might have it sorted by tomorrow.”

“At the risk of offending you, I don't think you should screw around with Mark.”

Lisbeth's face flushes. “Are you defending him?”

“Not at all,” Eduardo says. “I'm just saying that nothing good will come of it.”

She knows she's not hiding her irritation very well, but then she remembers the last thing Mark said. “He mentioned a desk, too. Said to ask you about it.”

Eduardo blanches. “Jesus Christ...”

“What?”

His shoulders sag and he seems to get smaller somehow. “I don't want to talk about it.”

 

* * *

 

That night, over mediocre Italian food and a liter carafe of Chianti that tastes like it came from a cardboard box, he brings it up.

“Do you remember my father?”

Stern. Hard. Handsome. “Of course I do.”

“So...I don't think you ever saw it, but he has an office at home and he had this stupid desk he was in love with. He got it at a Sotheby's auction, and it cost a fortune because it belonged to Ernesto Geisel.”

“Who's that?”

“He was President of Brazil in the seventies. Anyway, when I was at Harvard I brought Mark home for a three day weekend. Mom was out shopping and Dad was supposed to be gone, but something happened to his flight and...he caught me blowing Mark in his office.”

“Oh no.”

“Yeah. On the desk.”

“Oh, God.”

“Yeah. I don't know if it would've been better if I'd been the one getting head, if that would've somehow been less 'wrong' to him. Anyway, he very calmly told Mark to please go wait in the other room, and the English translation of what he said to me is if I so much as _thought_ about cock again he'd sit Shiva for me and I could say goodbye to my mother.” 

“That's disgusting.”

Eduardo nods. “Probably the worst thing is that he made us drag it out to the driveway and put it on craigslist. For free. Because that's how bad he wanted it gone.”

“I'm so sorry that happened.”

“Thanks.” He’s remarkably unemotional and calm. “Mark was really good about it, though, and it made us even closer for a while. He helped me work through a lot of my shit, like realizing my dad was the problem, not me.” He rubs the edge of his napkin between his thumb and forefinger and thinks a moment. “But then Mark got really busy with the site and I started pulling back and...we just sort of fell apart. It was gradual. And really sad for both of us, I think. I'd never been in love before. I'm not sure about him, but...I don’t know. It was hard.”

“That's so sad,” Lisbeth says softly.

“Uh huh.”

The waitress breezes by. “Anyone save room for tiramisu? It's ladyfingers soaked in espresso, layered with Grand Marnier mascarpone cheese and chocolate. It's also Italian for 'pick-me-up,' should you happen to need one.”

Eduardo could not look less interested. “No thank you.”

“I’d like one to go,” Lisbeth says. “Actually, make it two. Thank you.” Ordinarily Eduardo would tease her for something like that, but it’s almost like he didn’t even hear.

 

* * *

 

Back at the room, she hangs half backwards over the edge of the bed to stretch out her back. The ceiling's that sixties glitter popcorn stuff and all the blood in her head feels funny...she zones out a little, and realizes something doesn't quite add up between Eduardo's story and what she knows. She reaches out to grab his leg as he walks by. 

“Help me up,” she says, and everything tingles as he pulls her up to sitting with one fast swoosh. When she can form a sentence, she says, “How did you and Mark go from estranged sadness to estranged hatred? You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, I'm just curious.”

Eduardo settles on his side next to her and pets her knee. “Well, we still had to deal with each other because of the company, and we got, like, crazy bitter with each other. Maybe it was because we'd always disagreed about certain things, or maybe it was because we never had a formal breakup, I don't know. But our relationship morphed into the most sickening animosity ever. The dilution was Mark's big fuck you, but I'm not proud of some of the things I did, either.”

“Like what?”

“Slept with people for the sole purpose of upsetting him.”

“Lots of people? Or certain people?”

“Both.”

“Who?”

“Um...his ex-girlfriend Erica.”

“Who else?”

“Divya Narendra. Do you know who that is?”

It rings a bell. “I think so.”

“Let's see, who else...I slept with one of Mark's lawyers early on and he had to drop Mark as a client.”

“Terrible!”

“I know. I had a very visible thing with my own lawyer, too. That really got to him.”

“Were there others?”

“Maybe,” Eduardo says absently. “Erica's the one that upset him the most, though. God, why am I telling you this?”

“Because it weighs heavy on your soul?” Lisbeth guesses, and flops down next to him. It's a little disturbing to hear – the opposite of love is indifference, not hate; that he'd gone to such lengths to upset Mark suggests a trend she’d rather not think about. She runs her short nails down the nape of his neck over and over and he closes his eyes. 

“It's so stupid,” he says. “It's almost like we were virgins who did it once and ended up with a kid the whole world’s friends with and I'll never get out from under it.” He lazily opens his eyes when she stops. “Mm, thanks. Do you care if I check my voicemail? I noticed earlier I have, like, a lot.”

She eats both squares of tiramisu while Eduardo props his phone on his pillow and listens to his fourteen messages. They’re mostly from his mother measuring how long it's been since he's called. Five days, a week, two weeks, a month...when he calls to check in and apologize, Lisbeth thinks he sounds like a little boy.

 

** EUGENE, OREGON **

 

They’re making awesome time when Eduardo's phone pings on the highway. There's probably a law against it, but he picks up anyway because it's his father.

“Pai! Como vai? Uh huh. Não.”

He slows down a little. “Não.”

Lisbeth can hear a wall of speech coming from the phone; a little pained sound squeaks in the back of Eduardo's throat when he tries to interrupt. “Pai, no. Dad. Dad, please.”

The car kicks up an arc of shoulder gravel as he pulls off the interstate; he gets out, slams the door, and starts shouting. It's all Portuguese, but Lisbeth can tell he's defending himself. His right arm waves wildly in a strangely graceful expression of rage, and she senses from his stance that he gains some kind of traction towards the end.

He slips back in the car, visibly shaking. “Geisel's desk was in my parents' driveway this morning.”

Lisbeth feels a tingle of shock. “But...how?”

He swallows and takes a moment to collect himself. “Mark's the one who put it on craigslist because I didn't know how and I guess he still had the guy's number in his phone. My father says I must still be screwing around with Mark figuratively if not literally. He said...” Eduardo shakes his head and almost can't finish. “He said that we will no longer speak to each other.”

“Is there a downside to that?” Lisbeth asks, but Eduardo's face disappears into his hands. She puts a hand on his back and wishes they weren't in the car. “It looked like you got the last word, at least.”

“I said he'd die alone and unloved by his grandchildren.”

“Is that an old Brazilian insult?”

“No, I made it up just now.”

“That's very good. You should be proud,” she says. “If it makes you feel any better, my father was an asshole, too, and I never miss him.” Eduardo doesn't answer, doesn't even move, and she squeezes his shoulder and makes an offer. “I can do something to him, if you want.”

“To Mark?”

“Yeah.”

He rubs his eyes and gives it a bit of thought. “Like what?”

“I've been thinking about friends structure. Breaking the chain and grafting in something like a fractal set.”

“To spin knots?”

Lisbeth nods. “Tight enough to crash the entire site.”

“Worse than last time?”

“Definitely.”

“Okay,” Eduardo says, gaining momentum. “Yeah, fuck him. Do it.”

 

** SEATTLE, WASHINGTON **

 

Eduardo takes them to a hotel unlike anywhere they've ever stayed: a nondescript Hilton downtown, neither five star nor zero star. Lisbeth assumes he chose the utilitarian setting to serve her project, which has no room for distractions. Not even his tongue on her inner thigh, and he gets away with checking them in as Mr. and Mrs. Rudolf Lipschitz because he pays with cash.

She sketches how the attack will work on a hotel notepad and Eduardo feeds her pizza while she works. Mark thinks he's walled himself off but he hasn't; every step he took to do it is logged on the Netherlands server, and Lisbeth gradually picks apart his strategy backwards until she has all the same access she used to. Then she starts typing a tempest of code like the swirls of a storm, spiraling until the paths have nowhere to go but forever. Some of the malicious strings are set to randomly relocate themselves elsewhere and repeat, and even their backups will be infected. It's going to be an unholy mess, and she wishes she could see Mark's face when he realizes just how bad it is.

She finishes at five o'clock in the morning and joins Eduardo in bed – the slight movement wakes him up and he rolls over to fit himself in the spaces around her. “How'd it go?” he asks.

“It's done.”

 

* * *

 

They sleep late and prop themselves up in bed to watch it unfold on the morning news. _Facebook crashes – millions lose access to personal photos and information._ It’s reported that users feel panic and betrayal stemming from notifications addressed to other users and notifications that their private posts have been replied to. “I'm just worried that my stuff's lost forever,” one woman says tearfully. “Like pictures of my kids...it's sickening.”

“It's not really lost,” Lisbeth says. “But it'll be buried for a while.”

Eduardo smiles. It's pretty exciting to be him right now. To be in love with a girl who's exacting all the revenge he's itched for for years is a treat beyond anything he might have dreamed up for himself. Landing Mark back in the day felt like a coup. Lisbeth _is_ a coup.

Before he can even think about morning coffee his phone rings, and it gets even more exciting to be him. “It's Mark,” he says. “Should I answer? It might be fun.” Lisbeth offers only dimples, so he exhales quick and answers on speakerphone so she can enjoy it, too. “Greetings from the Emerald City!” he says. “Or Jet City - I think they call it that, too.”

“Put her on the phone.” 

“Who? Hurricane Lisbeth?”

“Don't fucking play with me, Wardo. It's your company too, you should care about this.”

“Funny how I don't,” he says blithely. “Hey, do you remember what Lisbeth looks like?”

“Yeah. Inappropriately dressed.”

Lisbeth brandishes both middle fingers at the phone, and Eduardo asks, “Do you think she looks like Erica?”

Mark's silent.

“Isn't it funny that I'm even getting girls who _look_ like Erica?”

Mark's silent for a second longer but then regroups. “Am I on speakerphone?”

“Yeah. I thought she should enjoy this, too.”

“Fuck you, asshole. Hey, Lisbeth?”

“Yes?”

“Give me sixty seconds to say what I need to say, and then, God willing, we will never speak again. Can we agree to that?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good. You can do anything you want to me personally, but leave Facebook the fuck alone.”

“Leave Eduardo alone, then.”

“That was my intent up until your stunt with the Like button. Look, I can tell you're the kind of person who prides yourself on not giving a shit about anything, but one day someone will fuck with something you care about, or you'll lose something that's precious to you and I hope it comes down on you like a rain of shit.”

Lisbeth rolls her eyes, thoroughly unimpressed. “Anything else?”

“Yeah. Did Wardo take you to the Seattle Hilton?”

She slowly looks over at Eduardo, who knows he's in trouble. “No,” he lies, and hangs up.

Lisbeth is beyond rattled. They checked in under a fake name, so hacking can’t explain this. “Tell me how he knows we're here.”

Eduardo flushes red and his shoulders sink. “I've been here before. With him.” 

Jealousy, thick and ripe threatens to close Lisbeth's throat. “When.”

“After the thing with my dad I wanted to get as far away from home as I could, and Mark didn't have a passport, so...we came here.” He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “I'm sorry, okay? It doesn't mean anything.”

“It does.” She is jealous and tired and this _hurts._ “You still think about him.”

“Lisbeth, I'm in love with you,” he pleads. “I remembered how to get here and that the cinnamon rolls were good. That's it, okay? It doesn't mean anything.” He grabs one of her wrists a little too tight and pulls her close, to ground them both before this gets too stupid.

 

** VANCOUVER, BRITISH COLUMBIA **

 

She accepts his little overtures in Vancouver – the sweet talk and the kisses on top of her head when they check in under his real name. He springs for a hotel that's ridiculously luxe, “because the next 1,500 miles might be rough,” is the excuse, but it must be an apology because there's no reason they need a gigantic suite with a dining room that seats six. Still, she holds his hand as they explore the rooms.

At least some of her crankiness is due to the all-night hackathon, and a few hours of sleep folded in-between Egyptian cotton sheets makes her feel much more like herself again. She stretches and wakes to find Eduardo writing a list.

“Some of these Canadian towns are hundreds of miles apart, so I'm making a list of stuff we should have, like pillows and blankets in case we get stuck in the car,” he says. 

“Makes sense.”

He looks at her with warm, dark eyes. “I'd also like to take you out somewhere nice tonight, if you want.”

This is more apologies, of course. Lisbeth's eyes flit over to the television, which is tuned to CNN on mute. _FB MESS STILL A MESS_ according to the ticker. “We do have a lot to celebrate,” she says, and Eduardo must know he's forgiven because he allows himself a subdued smile.

He goes out to buy all the bomb shelter-type provisions while Lisbeth walks around downtown and treats herself to a few new things, including a tight black dress, expensive department store cosmetics, and lingerie she would have found ridiculous a year ago. Now she finds it...interesting, and she stuffs it away as a surprise and pretends to listen when Eduardo returns and proudly reads things off his receipts. “Two pillows and two blankets. Bottled water. Granola bars. The World's Hardest Sudoku for you. A Tampax multipack, also for you. A box of Band-Aids and two boxes of Kleenex. Dried apricots. Scissors. Gummyworms. A flashlight...”

He keeps reading items and Lisbeth wanders off, then reappears wearing nothing but a string of drugstore pearls and black corset that presses her thin as a vase; Eduardo pretends at first not to notice, but then glances up with vague interest. “Huh. Is that new?”

“I've worn it a hundred times and you've never noticed.”

He breaks into a smile. “Get over here.” The receipt flutters to the floor as he hooks a hand around her waist and drags her close. “Did you know I like stuff like this? ‘Cause I do.” He closes his hands around her like a cage and feels the grid of boning lain over her ribs. There's a look in his eyes that she's about to get ravaged, and she allows him to paw her a bit but then walks away.

Earlier in the day, she worried she was gift-wrapping herself as the girl Eduardo wants rather than herself, but she feels very old-fashioned and pretty sitting on a little vanity bench with her breasts crushed up high. She can be this girl sometimes, and she lays out all her cosmetics and gets to work penciling around her eyes so they'll stand out. “Pop” is the verb the salesgirl used, but Lisbeth would rather they didn't.

Eduardo mopes on her periphery for a few minutes, then takes a quick shower and is startled by how different she looks when he gets out. “Good God,” he says. “Is a secret supermodel past part of the stuff you never want to talk about?”

“No,” she says, and he's suddenly in her space, kissing her bare shoulders and working up her neck. “Don't mess up my makeup,” she says, leaning away to illustrate that her face is off limits. “I'm serious, I worked hard on it! We’ll mess around when we get back.” 

“I want a preview,” he whines, and she blots her lipstick on a tissue and tosses it at his feet. 

“Consider it a gauntlet,” she says, and stares him down until he picks it up.

 

* * *

 

They glide into a caviar and champagne bar for dinner. 

“You look like Audrey Hepburn,” Eduardo says, because she kind of does, with the black dress and the cheekbones and her eyes made even wider with shadow.

“You look like Eduardo in a suit.”

She smiles when he dispenses a gentle kick under the table, and they fawn over each other, sucking on the tiny mother of pearl spoons and drinking way too much champagne. Eduardo can tell people are curious who they are, and he's vain and proud and keeps pawing Lisbeth's sides to feel the vertical ribs of the corset under her dress. The fine hairs on his arms stand up when she leans close to whisper, “Let’s do it on the table when we get back to the room.”

“Okay,” he says, and takes another swig of champagne. This should be every night for them – black silk and sex and dropping a fortune on luxuries to celebrate a victory over some hapless business opponent. He likes being this guy; he's been groomed all his life to be this guy, and it's exhilarating to finally _live_ it. Every time they swallow it's adding up to thousands of dollars: Ossetra, Golden Sterlet, even white Almas on an eighteen karat gold dish that comes with a guard to make sure it doesn't disappear. It's all an atom in a molecule in a drop in the bucket to him now.

Champagne gives way to vodka, and cool gives way to sloppy drunk and Lisbeth losing a shoe underneath their table. She feels around with her toes; it should be there, but it's not.

“You're making a very weird face right now.”

“Because I can't find one of my shoes.”

“Fuck it,” Eduardo says, dragging the words a little too long because he's buzzed. “I'll carry you around.”

She finds the shoe, but she loses it again later in a chic penthouse bar with floor-to-ceiling glass views in the bathrooms; Eduardo buys multiple rounds for the entire establishment and graciously accepts the thanks that roll in.

“I’m happy to do it,” he says over and over. If the thankful strangers happen to be chatty, he asks what they think about the whole Facebook mess. He gets an earful he won’t remember because he’s had far too much to drink, though he will always remember high-fiving the girl who says, “My cousin goes to Stanford and met Mark Zuckerberg at a party once. Said he’s a real bag of dicks.”

 

* * *

 

Lisbeth wakes up in the morning feeling like she’s being squeezed to death by a python. She has a vague recollection of vomiting in a public restroom and being carried through the hotel lobby.

She moves her hand to her ribs, and the python is from not getting undressed the night before. She feels the back seam rip as she struggles halfway out of the dress, and Eduardo groans and shifts next to her. He’s awake and rubbing his eyes. “Last night,” she says, struggling against the leaden weight in her head. “Was it bad?

“It wasn't good,” he says. He somehow managed to get more undressed than she did, but he looks waxen and pale. “We're assholes.”

She tries to laugh but it gives her not only a headache but also a pathetic little dry-heave. “We never really ate. We should've had more than caviar and toast.” Like McDonalds, fuck, anything to soak up the poison. She wonders if Mark feels worse than this and decides he can't possibly. 

Eduardo reaches over to help her with the corset hooks, and the boning’s left deeply embossed lines all over her body. The only noteworthy thing that happened in bed last night was tripping into it and passing out.

Lisbeth scratches the lines on her skin. “Want to watch the news?”

“Nah. I don't care anymore.” Eduardo settles on his side and thinks maybe he doesn't like being that guy so much after all. The later parts of last night didn't feel right – he was trying way too hard and it wasn't as much fun as it should have been. It's like he became some gross chimera of João Gabriel Saverin and Sean Parker. “I think I'm gonna order ginger ale from room service and if we're lucky we might feel like normal human beings in an hour or two.”

“Okay.”

Rolling over and sitting up enough to call room service is more than his hangover will allow just yet, and he's hit by an overwhelming wave of sickness, followed closely by an overwhelming wave of sadness. His mother would be ashamed of him, he's sure. He wonders how she is, what she does all day and whether she ever thinks about him. “I wonder if my mom fights with dad about me or if she even cares.”

Lisbeth says nothing because she has no idea.

“Although fuck it, I guess. You're my family now.” He sighs deep and closes his eyes. “I hope that's not too much pressure.”

“Not at all.” She traces imaginary designs on his shoulder - it makes him shiver at first but then he melts into it. 

“Keep that shit up and I'm gonna beg you to marry me.”

The designs get more complicated. “You know what I'd like to do?”

“Not have sex, I hope. No offense.” 

It sounds revolting this hung over. “None taken. I think we should throw your phone in the harbor and disappear. Find someplace small and far away and just be still and quiet together.”

Eduardo realizes he wants nothing more.

Now that he knows he's not that guy, maybe he can use the quiet to grow up a little and figure out who exactly he is.

 

** TELKWA, BRITISH COLUMBIA **

 

The drive north is stunning, and the scale and desolation of the mountain landscape is liberating the more Eduardo gets used to it. It's a relief to realize his own insignificance, to know that no one gives a shit who he is or where his clothes came from. 

He feels almost no guilt for what they just did to Mark. It’s an abstraction, in a way – Facebook’s an artifice that never felt especially real to him, not even when it started paying off. It’s far more practical to focus on what’s important and real, like a honeymoon for two with no distractions. He’s going to hole up with Lisbeth and leave everything else behind.

Each scattered, tiny town they drive through seems exponentially further from the last, which ordinarily isn't upsetting but this time Eduardo's nervous about the level of the gas gauge; he subconsciously leans forward and holds his breath, as if it will make the fumes last longer. 

An increasing frequency of side roads is encouraging; people must live here, and Lisbeth suddenly says, “Look!”

She points at a crescent of tiny log cabins that must have been built in the sixties, at the latest. Each has a red metal roof and a pair of red metal chairs on plain, uncovered porches in front. “I want to stay there.”

There has to be a gas station nearby, so Eduardo isn't afraid to pull over and stop the engine. He gets out and cups the sides of his eyes to peek in the office. “It doesn't look open.”

“Knock.”

He doesn't expect anything, but a little dark-haired boy appears and opens the door. “Hi.”

“Hi. Um, we were wondering if you had any vacancies?”

“Sure do,” the boy says, and waves them in. He's got to be, like six or seven.

“Are you the manager?” Eduardo jokes.

“My grandma is, but when she's not here I help. She pays me a dollar every time I do.”

“Where's your grandma?”

“Playin’ Bingo.”

“And where's that?”

“At the senior center down the road. Next to the Chevron.”

Gas. Thank God. “Oh. Well, you're very professional.”

“Thanks.”

“We'd like to stay for a week,” Lisbeth says, which is news to Eduardo but he nods anyway. 

“I'll check with my grandma, but that should be okay. We're not too busy.” The wall holds a key rack, and the boy pushes a chair over to stand on so he can reach the little leather key-ring on the fourth peg. “Number four. I can't run the credit card machine but you can pay later.”

“Thanks. We appreciate your help,” Eduardo says, and the boy lights up at the five-dollar tip he presses into his hand. “What's your name?”

“Henry.”

“It's nice to meet you, Henry. I'm Eduardo and this is Lisbeth.”

“Those are weird names.”

“Thanks,” Eduardo says, amused by Henry's candor. “Tell your grandma to come find us, okay?” 

They say goodbye and head for the fourth cabin. Eduardo unlocks the door and waits a moment before looking up, because it's home for a week and if it's awful he doesn't know what he'll do.

Lisbeth gasps, because it's exactly what she hoped for. A table for two abuts a tiny, abbreviated kitchen and a thin wall and pocket door denotes the bedroom, which has a dresser and a bed big just enough for both of them. The bathroom is so small they have to take turns looking at it. “I love it,” she says, touching the hung-up towels. They trade places and she looks inside the four little cupboards in the kitchen, which contain basic old pans and dishes. It’s everything they need.

They shuttle in their stuff and get settled in. It’s not bedtime yet, but the bed seems to welcome them as they fall onto their backs. “Tired old-ass bones,” Eduardo sighs. “I hope it's everything you wanted.”

“It is,” she says. “Let's stay here a long time.”

He reaches over to hold her hand. “I think I’m gonna teach myself how to cook and clean while we’re here. I don't know how to do any of that stuff ‘cause I’ve never had to.”

“You never picked any of it up by watching your mother?”

“Are you kidding? I don't think she knows how, either.” He runs his thumb over the back of her hand. “I’ve had some seriously screwed up ideas about adulthood and masculinity from the way I was brought up. Like, I’m supposed to be a certain thing. A rich man, a businessman, a dick. But now that I’ve had a taste of it I just want to be a decent human being.”

She rolls onto her side and pats his stomach. “You already are.”

“You’re sweet. And very biased.”

She smiles and yanks his shirt untucked. 

“Pshh.” He play-pushes her away and she comes back at him with both hands. “You can’t get enough of it lately, can you?”

“Is that a complaint?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then shut up and do what you’re supposed to.”

He growls about how rotten she is and kisses all her favorite places. When enough of their clothes are on the floor, he rolls on top of her and enjoys the little wince and coo she does at the beginning, when he pushes inside her for the first time.

Right away there’s difference. “Oh, God,” he groans, taking up the slow, deep rhythm she likes. “Why’s it feel so good?” 

Her eyes are wide open. “The bed, I think. Leverage. Because it’s so firm.” 

“Maybe we should stay longer than a week. What…this is ridiculous!” Lately he’s been thinking about the World Cup to last longer, but that strategy might be useless here.

“What’s so funny?”

“Oo, nothing.”

Lisbeth wants to play-fight about the inappropriateness of laughter in this situation, but all she can do is wrap her arms around him and hold on.

She’s just finishing a delicious post-coital cigarette outside when she meets Henry’s grandmother Jean, who doesn’t look old enough to have a grandson that age. Lisbeth gets an unexpected but not unwelcome hug for saying so, and a hot cup of tea in the office as her credit card information is written down.

“Henry’s a very nice little boy,” she says.

“Yes, he is,” Jean laughs. “I think I’ll keep him. Although even if he was a terror I’d still have to. His mother works in a surimi plant on the coast because it pays better than she could do here.”

Lisbeth doesn’t ask where his father is, and she takes mental notes of Jean’s list of things to do in Telkwa. With the bed in number four, it’s no disappointment there isn’t much.

Eduardo’s half-dressed when she comes back. “Did you realize that there’s no cell coverage here?” he asks. “There’s no television, no Internet, not even a land line.” Lisbeth positively glows when she nods that yes, she realizes that and doesn't care. 

One week seamlessly turns into two.

Eduardo quits shaving and the scrape of his cheek goes from smooth to sharp to soft, all in the span of three days, and Lisbeth goes from complaining about it to liking it. They look at the chainsaw sculptures in the park, drink at the bar, and get to know the sporadic hours of the tiny library, which provides the only broadband Internet connection for miles. Lisbeth wonders how long it will take before she wants to move on because she loves every minute they're there – Eduardo's soft stubble and the intimacy and the quiet.

Eduardo seems to like it just as much. He loves the outdoors and gets online at the library to order warmer clothes and hiking boots from Mountain Cooperative Co-Op; he doesn’t fully believe Xpresspost will work, but a box really does show up the next day.

He tries it all on while Lisbeth finishes up the pile of French toast he made for breakfast; he’s not bad in the kitchen, as long as he doesn’t get too ambitious. “It’s amazing how much you eat,” he says, a fact he states at least twice a day. “You wanna go for a hike with me?”

“No thanks.” 

“Come on. Just a little one.”

“No,” she says, and uses the excuse that she hasn’t felt great lately, which is no exaggeration. She thinks it might be from sleeping too much, which was luxurious at first but has turned into an indeterminate full-body ache. Ironically, it’s all she wants to do.

Jean is out sweeping the porch on number three and sees them part with hugs and kisses out front. 

“Hi, Jean.”

“Hi. Seen the lights yet?”

“Not yet.”

“It’s supposed to be a good week for it. You’d have to stay up real late or get up real early, though.” She sweeps a few more strokes and leans on the broom to assess Eduardo’s new ensemble. “Looks like you’re going out for a hike.”

“Uh huh. Lisbeth won’t come with me.”

“I don’t care about hiking.”

“Neither do I,” Jean says. “Come over for a visit, if you want.”

Lisbeth follows her back to the office; there’s a maternal comfort she loves about this woman, and she has no idea why plain black tea tastes better here than anywhere else.

“It’s nice to see two young people like you when there’s so much bad in the world,” Jean says. “Did you hear about those dead girls in Vancouver?”

Pinpricks make the hairs on Lisbeth’s arms stand up. “No. What about them?”

“Something to do with computers. Computers made some young girls kill themselves. It’s an epidemic.”

“That’s awful,” Lisbeth says, and learns through a series of questions that it was a trio of unrelated cyber-bullying cases, which she assumes are at least partially linked to Facebook. The cruelty of adolescents was bad enough in her day, and she can only imagine how much worse it is now.

It gives her the idea to start writing fragments of a program that might someday be refined enough to put into practice. She’s superstitious about hacking into Facebook again just yet, but her program will look for keywords and hit stats indicative of harassment and forward a generic form message to the possible victim about reporting. It’s probably illegal as hell, but maybe with some tweaks it might be above-board someday. 

It’s good to have a side project, because the last thing she wants to do is go hiking, as handsome as Eduardo is in plaid flannel and as cute as it is to see him flip out that he saw bull moose.

 

* * *

 

She’s sitting by the window and doesn’t know he’s watching her.

There’s an ashen quality of the natural light and Eduardo thinks Lisbeth looks gorgeous in it. Maybe it’s because she’s closer to the latitude she's from, but it makes her skin translucent and her eyes even more striking. He suspects she’s getting an even deeper mental purge up here than he is, she’s so serious and quiet sometimes. Like now, she has a book open in her lap but she’s staring off into space, although when he thinks about it, she hasn’t been completely herself lately. She’s been extra tired, and last night she had him press his warm hands over what she’d started calling her “little backache.” “Lisbeth,” he says, but she doesn’t answer. “Lisbeth?”

“Mmm?” she says.

“Are you okay?” 

“I've got cramps.”

Well that explains her recent love affair with the bathroom. “A Cosmo at the laundromat said sex is good for that.” He's actually a little curious, about the blood and everything. “You wanna try?”

“No thanks. But I'd like to walk to the library for new books. I've read all of mine and Henry wants us to pick out a few for him, too.”

“Maybe we should drive.”

“Having a period doesn't make me an invalid, you know.”

“I know. Sorry.”

The walk starts out fine and Eduardo does most of the talking. He’s working out how he wants to handle his upcoming philanthropy and talks about Brazilian causes he cares about. “There's a charity called Zero Hunger that gives money to the women heads of households, not men.”

“I like that.”

“I do, too, but I've heard it's got problems with corruption. It has to be better than nothing, though, right? I guess I’m torn about dumping money into it if it’s not going where it’s supposed to.” 

He assumes he’s bored her when her hand slips out of his. 

It will haunt him for months that he walks several oblivious steps after she’s fallen to her knees on the road. “Lisbeth! What the fuck? Are you okay?”

“I'm fine. Just dizzy.” She struggles to pull herself up but can't.

“Stop. Just stop.” He kneels down beside her and notices that something about her eyes is alarmingly off. “Put your arms around my neck. Come on, now. Don't fight me.” 

“I'm fine,” she insists. “I don't want to be carried.”

“Tough shit,” he says, and scoops her up. She's not heavy, but they're probably a mile from anything in either direction; he estimates town is closer and starts walking. “What happened?”

“I got lightheaded but it passed. I’m fine.”

A stranger driving a truck takes mercy on them and takes them to the clinic, where Lisbeth is borderline hostile and doesn't want to see a doctor. Eduardo is just as upset. “Falling by the side of the fucking road isn't normal, Lisbeth. Please, you have to get yourself checked out.”

“I want to go alone.” 

“Fine.”

She waits her turn, disappears when called, and returns in half an hour, hugging her elbows like she's cold.

“I can't walk back,” she says.

“I'll run back and get the car. What did the doctor say? What's wrong?”

“Not here,” she says, swinging eyes towards the other people in the waiting room. Privacy. He should know better.

“Okay,” he says. “Sit down and take it easy. I'll be back in like fifteen, twenty minutes.”

“Pick me up at the store.”

“Lisb-”

“It's ten steps away. I'll be fine.” 

Eduardo groans - he fucking hates this, but kisses her cheek and sprints for the door. He runs all the way home, so fast his lungs burn and his hands shake so much it's a struggle to find the right key for the car. 

He drives much faster than he should and finds Lisbeth outside the store as promised. “Was I fast? Did you have to wait long?”

“No.” She throws a paper sack on the floor as she slides into her seat.

“What happened?” he asks, and gets even more agitated when she won't answer. “Lisbeth, you could be as stubborn as you like if it was just you, but it's us now.” It feels like his heart's being squeezed. “Please tell me what's going on.”

“I'm miscarrying.”

“You're...” He swallows hard. “Did you know?”

“No.”

“I'm...I'm so sorry.”

“The failure rate of what I'm on is less than one percent; we were just unlucky.” Eduardo nods; their lone birth control discussion lasted four seconds in Texas, and he's ashamed that he can't even remember what she uses.

“How long had you been...?” He can't even say it.

“About a month, and probably a little longer. I'm supposed to eat steak and oranges and if the bleeding doesn't slow down I need to see a hospital.”

“The nearest big one's probably in Prince George. We should go.”

“No. Just let me rest a few days. Please.”

“Honey...”

“No.”

He doesn’t know what’s in the paper sack but it can’t be steak and oranges. “Don’t run off. I’ll be right back,” he says, and heads inside the store.

“Hey, how’s it going?” the cashier asks. “Your girl was just in here buying…lady stuff.”

“Yeah, I know,” he says brusquely. The last time he was here, he bought a case of beer and got applause for telling a dirty joke. That seems so far away now.

The best four steaks go in his red plastic basket, and he cruises the produce section only to be disappointed. Their stock is miserable; the oranges are yellowish green and hard. He takes his basket to the front and says, “Can I talk to someone about the oranges?” he asks.

“You can talk to me.”

“Do you know if you're gonna get new ones anytime soon?”

“In a couple days, maybe, but they won’t look any better than those,” the cashier says. “We never get good fruit up here. Unless it's apples.”

“Huh. I didn't see any.”

“That's because we don't have any.”

Eduardo settles for the closet thing to fresh oranges he can find - canned mandarin segments, and he could cry from how frustrated he is.

“You seen the lights yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Maybe tonight’s the night.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Lisbeth is sullen and silent in the car. “If there’s anything I can do…” he says, but he already knows she’ll shake her head no. 

Back at the cabin she puts the sack in the bathroom and slides into bed while Eduardo feels helpless - he should probably cry about this and probably later he will, but he sits next to her while the what ifs haunt him. What if she'd eaten right all along. What if they stayed in San Francisco, what if they hadn't sucked down all that champagne like fools celebrating the Facebook crash. He wonders if all the bad things he's done in his life have led up to this moment, or if he's being punished for things that haven't happened yet. 

Vindictiveness doesn't suit me, he thinks, and his blood chills at the realization that Mark called this. 

_I hope you lose something precious to you and it comes down on you like a rain of shit._

Lisbeth gets up abruptly and shuts herself in the bathroom, then comes out, stony-faced and pale. She hands him a wad wrapped in pale blue plastic like a little plump pillowcase. “Please throw this away somewhere else,” she says. She's either crying or about to start.

“Are you oka-”

“Please throw this away somewhere else,” she repeats, and burrows back into bed.

There's a big bear-proof metal trash contraption behind the office. Eduardo leaves the cabin and closes his hand around the little blue package; it's still warm from being so close to her body, and he deflates further at the sight of Henry loitering outside the office. He tries to avoid him, but when he gets back from pitching the wad in the receptacle behind the building, Henry's waiting for him, pressed up against their door. “Did you get my books?”

“Um, no, buddy, I'm really sorry.”

“Where's Lisbeth?”

It startles Eduardo that this isn't happening inside a horrific isolated bubble for two. “Um, she's having a bad day. I kind of am, too.”

“Is she okay?” Henry whispers.

“She's not feeling well.”

“Can I peek at her?”

“Maybe not now. I'll tell her you said hi, though.”

“Thanks,” Henry says, and slowly backs away.

Eduardo goes back in and closes the door as quietly as he can. Lisbeth looks so small; she's curled up in bed, facing the wall and he crawls in next to her and holds her from behind. “Don’t panic if you see blood in the sheets,” she says. “It’s old. I think it happened last night.”

“I’m so sorry.” He kisses the back of her neck over and over again, and slips his hand under her shirt, searching for the warmth of her skin. “I love you so much. I’m just…sorry.” She reaches back to touch his hair and he nuzzles her neck. It doesn't seem wise to say _it would have been so nice_ out loud and he's not sure he could with the lump in his throat, so he holds her a little tighter.

“It doesn't matter now, but...”

“But what, honey?”

“I think I would have kept it.”

He can’t kiss her because he can't breathe through his nose and she’s crying, too. “Shh. I know,” he says, and can’t believe the wet, choked sound is coming from her. He strokes her hair over and over. “I know.”

Only when he's sure she's asleep does he pull away. He's never felt sadness without anger before, and it hurts so much he almost can't bear it. He slides the pocket door closed and cries without a sound, and when she wakes up in the early evening he puts together a dinner he can tell she’s forcing herself to eat.

He cleans up and they listen to piano nocturnes on her laptop over and over. She sleeps and he worries; he uses the middle hours of that night to remind himself that Mark didn't do this – he just predicted it by accident, and it's no one's fault. It's not even his own fault, really, it just happened. Lisbeth stirs next to him – she gets up to use the bathroom, and she's wide-awake when she comes out. “Get up,” she says. “We have to go outside.”

“What? Why?”

“Green! I saw it through the blinds!” She stuffs her bare feet into her cowboy boots and yanks a blanket off the bed. Eduardo gradually catches up to her and puts on enough clothes to follow her outside.

The sky's awash with pale green curtain of fire, slowly separating into fingers and fading away. It's dark up above, with the expected stars, but the horizon is liquid beryl and tears fill his eyes because it's so much bigger, so much more beautiful than he thought it would be. 

“I’ll be right out,” he says, and ducks back inside. Lisbeth jumps when the car trunk spontaneously clunks open, and Eduardo comes back with his arms so full he almost can't see. With an eye on the sky, he takes the spare pillows and blankets they've had since Vancouver and builds a nest in the trunk. He picks Lisbeth up and sets her inside, and they nestle together and watch green turn to pink and then back again. 

“I wonder if it means anything,” she says. “Other than charged particle collisions,” but Eduardo doesn’t seem to hear. He looks up in silence and keeps their fingers laced together until the light show stops.

 

* * *

 

It's a long, drawn-out production with blood and profanity, but he shaves the next morning.

Lisbeth thinks as objectively as she can about what happened, and is flummoxed that their bodies are even capable of such things - hers, especially, and not just because she'd been on quarterly contraceptive injections. Her own biology has seemed like an abstraction for most of her life, and now...this. She works on the code for her project off and on and mostly stays in bed.

Eduardo keeps his worry to himself out of fear of annoying her, but on day two of doing nothing he has to say something. “I think we should go,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “You're not doing well, and…I'm worried.” 

She doesn't argue, just looks back with hollow eyes.

“It feels like we've been hiding up here from all the things that bother us, you know? I've loved it, but all the oranges up here are rock-hard and green and we're in the middle of fucking nowhere and it scares me to death with you like this.” 

“Okay,” she says after a long pause, and nods to show that she means it.

“Thank you.” 

The bed bends to accommodate him with a slow creak, and he tucks her hair behind her ear and kisses her forehead. Lisbeth wiggles her feet under the covers. “Maybe we could go back to the new house.”

“I thought that, too. Remember how a lot of the floors were scratched up? I'd like to refinish them, if that's something I can do myself. And I thought the room with the French doors – the one you think used to be a parlor – should be an office 'cause I want to start investing again. Like, actively.”

“I thought you didn't care about money because it turns you into an asshole.”

“That’s why I’m going to start giving it away. I wanna start my own charity foundation,” he says. “So the more I have, the more it has.”

“That's nice.” She reaches up to touch his newly smooth cheek. “Have you noticed anything different about me?”

“I hope this isn’t a trick.”

She hits him lightly. “No. I've stopped smoking,” she says, and Eduardo is so pleased not even his ridiculous beard could have hidden it. 

“That’s good. That’s really good.”

He charges his phone, gets their belongings together, and learns that the ATM at the store dispenses a maximum of $500 per account per day, so he withdraws as much as he can and gives it to Jean in a thick manila envelope. “Don’t open it now. It’s something for Henry. Well, for both of you.”

She nods and seems to understand. “He’ll be so sad. We’d both started to think of you as permanent.”

“We did, too,” Eduardo says. “But Lisbeth’s having health problems and it feels like we need to go home. I wrote down our number and address, and if there’s anything you ever need, please call us.” He looks up at the ashen sky. “This may sound weird, but I thought I’d be sadder than this. Maybe it’s because I know we’ll be back someday.”

 

** PRINCE GEORGE, BRITISH COLUMBIA **

 

Lisbeth slides into a canceled appointment slot at an OB/GYN and leaves Eduardo alone in the waiting area with all the toys and mothers and magazines. Every molecule of him aches to not be there and he feels better the instant he exits out to the corridor and the glass door clicks closed.

It’s an empty hall, with not even so much as a fake ficus tree to break up the monotony. It’s still better than the waiting room, and he’s desperate to talk to someone, anyone. He doesn't really have friends anymore, but…would Dustin hang up on him if he called? He decides to try. 

“Hello?”

“Dust. It's Eduardo.”

“Dude! Oh, man, it's so good to hear your voice. This has been, hands down, the worst month of my life. You heard about what happened, right?”

“Uh, yeah. I heard.”

“It's been rough. I mean, _rough._ Five full days we were down, but I think we're past it now.”

“That’s good,” Eduardo says, but his head spins; Mark apparently hasn't identified the source of all the recent trouble, which is nice but confusing. Why wouldn't he?

“Mark’s been horrible. Like…I can’t even describe it. Where the hell are you, anyway?”

“British Columbia.”

Dustin snorts. “Is it rude to ask why?”

“Nah. I wanted to see the Northern Lights.”

“Good enough reason, I guess. Did you?”

“We did.”

“Ah, you must still be with that girl. Elizabeth?”

“Close – her name's Lisbeth, and yeah. We drove to this tiny town way up north, and it was great – we stayed a few weeks, and it was like playing house, you know? But…” His throat stings so much he can’t continue.

“What? Are you in trouble?”

“No. Something happened.” He hadn't planned on talking about it, but he lowers his voice and spills all the pain of the past week; it’s almost involuntary. “I feel so fucking helpless and we’re barely talking. Lisbeth’s quiet when things are good, so…it’s just been really hard.”

“Oh, man, I’m so sorry. Do your parents know?”

“No. We’re not on speaking terms anymore, but it’s okay.” He stands a little straighter because it _is_ okay. “I bought a house in San Francisco last month, so I’m thinking we’ll go back and I can take care of her. Feed her like a Jewish mother and stuff.”

“Yeah,” Dustin says quietly. “That sounds like the best thing you can do.”

“I hope so. Would you do me a huge favor?”

“Of course. Anything.”

“We're gonna be there in, like, four or five days and our house is completely empty. If I put you in touch with our realtor, would you get the key and buy us a bed that’s not too soft? I'll pay you back.”

“You can pay me in beer.”

Eduardo smiles. “Done.”

“Okay,” Dustin says, the smile audible in his voice. “Will you tell her I said hi? Do you think she remembers me?”

“I'm sure she does. Thank you so much for doing this. We’ll catch up soon.”

“Yeah. I’m glad you called.”

“Good luck with Mark.”

“Thanks, I need it. Bye.”

“Bye.”

At first, he feels good enough to go back into the waiting room, but the longer he sits, the more a heavy, sick feeling gathers in his stomach over the site crash. He’d thought the people it would affect were Mark and millions of faceless users, but he never thought about Dustin. Or Chris. Even the faceless users didn’t deserve what happened. 

What petty, stupid revenge.

 

* * *

 

When Lisbeth emerges from her appointment, they go outside and walk the streets, holding hands and pointing out unimportant things in window displays until they're ready to talk seriously.

“Everything's fine,” she says.

He gives her hand a little squeeze. “Good.”

“I'm going to quit the injections, but I haven't decided what to use instead. Maybe a barrier method.” They walk a few quiet steps and she adds, “Apparently we need a brick wall.”

An hour ago it felt like he'd never laugh again, and it feels so good to be wrong. She joins in, and slows down a little as they walk past the colorful neon of a tattoo parlor.

“You thinking about another one?” he asks, and she smiles coyly. She doesn’t answer, but half a block later she turns around and starts walking fast.

“Hey,” he says, trying to keep up. “I was just giving you shit, it wasn’t a dare. Isn't this a little spontaneous?”

“No,” she says. “I've thought about it and I know what I want.”

She wants a delicate green vine that will start on her right side over her ribcage – it will wind up her side and end in a loose spiral on her right shoulder. Tiny sprigs of flowers will dot it along the way – blue and pink, all outlined in fine black lines and shadow so it'll look like a vintage woodcut bookplate. While it's being sketched and transferred to her skin, Eduardo leafs through a design book, and when she turns over halfway through her own, he's shirtless and face-down in a head cradle chair across the room with an ink gun buzzing over his skin.

Talk about spontaneous.

Her tattoo wraps up long before his does. “Can I see it?” she asks.

“Maybe wait till it’s finished,” he says, and she wanders about the shop looking at photo albums and magazines for a while, but it takes _forever._ She even goes out for a cup of tomato soup with a breadstick and he’s still not done when she gets back.

She’s about to suggest this might be a two-day job when the artist wipes all the blood and ink away. “Okay. You can look now.”

Eduardo’s right shoulder has the circle and lines of an antique compass. It’s easily the size of her outspread hand, and there's a lot of heavy black, but with fine shading and micro-lines that remind her of currency and old maps. Every direction – North, East, West, and South, has been marked with a solid black L. It’s amazing. It’s _beautiful._

“You must be serious about me.”

“I kind of am,” he says, and sits still while the dressing’s taped in place. He pays for both tattoos like this is an everyday occurrence for them, and they continue their walk outside like they aren’t both permanently changed.

“That’s a lot of ink to take in one sitting,” Lisbeth says. “You’re tough.”

“No I’m not. My skin feels like it’s on fucking fire and I don’t know how the hell I’m gonna sleep on it tonight.”

“I’ll take care of you,” she says, and imagines painting ointment on his shoulder with his head in her lap at bedtime. It actually sounds kind of nice…as infrequently as she’s the one doing the caretaking, she loves him and wants to.

The rest of the day is good and mostly unfettered by melancholy, not that they've forgotten, but some of the sadness seems to let go when they get immersed in the city - the dark coffee, the trail by the water, the sun.

 

** PALO ALTO **

 

Mark has been particularly tyrannical as of late.

He’s barely gone home since the crisis and expects everyone else to be just as dedicated. Dustin dreads telling him that he has something more important than work to attend to.

“Hey, um, I need to leave early today.”

“Then you'd better have a good reason.”

“I need to do a favor. For Wardo.”

Any mention of Eduardo gets Mark's attention. “What kind of favor?”

“He's moving here. He actually has a house on Nob Hill already but it's empty, and I'm getting a bed so he has someplace to sleep when he gets here.”

Mark downplays how exciting this news is. “I suppose he still has that skanky girl with him.”

“Uh,” Dustin doesn't consider her skanky but lacks the energy for a debate. “I think so.”

“I don't like her. She's going to suck all the life out of him and make him unhappy and old. If she even lasts, anyway.”

“I thought she was nice.”

“I think she's a bitch.”

“Well, whatever. Wardo likes her,” Dustin says. “A lot, and that's good enough for me.”

“Doesn't mean she's not a soul-sucking bitch.”

“Mark, Jesus. It's none of our business, okay?”

“I don't understand why they're moving here, of all places. And I hope he's not expecting me to be nice.” Mark weighs whether he should tell Dustin that Lisbeth is who crippled their website and made him cry. He's coming to a rolling boil just thinking about it, and Dustin seems to know it because his voice gets very soft and serious.

“Mark, just shut up, okay? They lost a baby.”

“Oh,” he says, and swallows hard. “I'm, um, surprised that's something they wanted.”

“I don't know that they did, but it's still sad,” Dustin says. “If you can't be civil you should probably just stay away from them, you know? Wardo isn't speaking to his family anymore and I think he just wants some peace.” Mark looks white, almost like he could almost throw up, and for once Dustin doesn't care how he feels. “Anyway, I'm leaving at two.”

 

** SAN FRANCISCO **

 

“Dustin did a good job.” Eduardo says, flopping down on their new bed. “I like it.”

Lisbeth agrees but doesn't say so. She's felt off and a little depressed for a few days, with no concrete reason why. Maybe it's proximity to her nemesis. Maybe it’s the old hormones she’s on clashing with the natural ones. Maybe it's not smoking. Maybe it's everything, and she feels a little lost in their big empty house. 

Eduardo researches hardwood floor refinishing and gets busy in his future office. He doesn’t expect the process to be quite as cathartic as it is: a YouTube video recommends making light pencil lines and sanding only until they vanish, so he writes everything he wants to forget on the floors and gets to work. 

Every piece of equipment he uses is ridiculously loud, and he falls into a deafening zone of solid work and thinks about Lisbeth. Her own private mourning has made her quiet and distant and he worries, even though she says he shouldn’t. Every day he tries to engage her, to get her to play and stoke their old warmth, and it’s gradually getting better.

He abandons his work and finds her in the bedroom, working on the unnamed computer project that’s been occupying her lately. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Mind if I hang out with you?”

“Anything to get you to lay off the fucking shop vac,” she says, and closes her laptop. Then she guides his hand to her left thigh, which is unnaturally hot from her computer. 

“You’re gonna burn the house down with that thing.”

“It’s all part of my plan to never pay you back.”

It feels good to smile again and they trade gentle kisses, which Lisbeth escalates into peeling off clothes, tattoo admiration, and getting into position. It's been a long time and Eduardo wonders why he's so nervous. He's terrified, actually, even though she started on a contraceptive ring the week before. “I haven't kept track,” he says. “Can we do this yet?”

“It's been seven days.” 

“Yeah, but does that mean seven full days and _then_ it's safe, or...”

She shrugs, because she wants to do it today. “I’m sure it’s fine. I want you to know if you can feel it or not.”

He carefully arranges her body and eases himself inside her. “I can’t,” he says, and adjusts the angle. “No, wait…um…yeah, I can.” 

She wraps her arms and legs around him. “Will it bother you?”

“No,” he says, and pushes in and out a few times, shallow and safe. Lisbeth pulls him close for a deep kiss and tips her hips to show him that she wants this, that he won’t hurt her, but he shifts and pulls out, hard and wet against her thigh.

“It’s okay,” she says, and guides him back in. He cooperates this time, and she’s so sensitive she comes almost right away – a surprisingly strong fluttering Eduardo feels all around him, and he slows down with a groan and pulls out again. It takes a minute of soft kisses for Lisbeth to realize that he's scared to come inside her.

“It’s okay,” she says. “Don’t be afraid.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I just…can’t right now. Can we do something else?”

“Yeah.” 

He reaches over into a drawer for a fingerful of shea butter and smears it rather unceremoniously between her thighs. “Okay, lie down flat on top of me and straighten your legs,” he says. “Yeah, like that. Now cross your ankles.” She does, and he kisses her wildly and starts fucking up between her thighs. She tries not to imagine that this is something he did with Mark...eons ago, when she'd asked if he'd fucked him, he said _A little. Not really_ and _I don't know what to call what we did._

This is what they did. 

She's not sure how she knows, but the same corrosive, jealous feeling from Seattle gnaws at her stomach and she tries to ignore it but can't.

She climbs off of him. 

“Hey…what's wrong?”

“You did that with Mark.”

He’s confused. “How could you know that? Anyway, it's not like we still are.”

She swallows her anger and tries to remember how she coped with Blomkvist's revolving door and Mimmi's assorted dalliances; those never bothered her. This does. Since it’s not the first time she's suspected Mark's still under his skin, she takes a deep breath and voices what she's wondered for months. “Do you still love him?”

“Lisbeth, God. _No.”_

“I think you do. Maybe not a lot, but there’s still something there.”

“There’s nothing. Less than nothing.”

“Listen. I've shared men before. Women, too, so if you have to have him, you can.” She doesn't mean it at all but feels pushed to say it for indemnity reasons. “All I ask is that you don't lie to me about it and don't bring him here.”

Eduardo is stone-faced. “I can't fucking believe you'd say that.” He turns his back to her and starts pulling on clothes. “I would never, ever do that.”

That's all that's said, but it feels like they've had a fight and the sadness permeates everything – Eduardo works until his shoulders ache, but he won't slow down and in fact decides to refinish the floors in every room in the house. Lisbeth is so quiet it's not like he's missing out on productive conversation anyway, so he takes ibuprofen and keeps working.

He's in the dining room on his hands and knees, pulling old carpet tacks out of the perimeter with pliers when she appears in the doorway with a bag. “I'm going to Stockholm to take care of some things.”

Eduardo is initially confused, then wide-eyed with hurt. “Are you serious?”

Lisbeth shrugs. “Will you take me to the airport?”

“No.”

“Please...”

“No, okay? I don't want you to go, and I won't put any effort towards you not being here.”

“I'll be back in ten days.”

“Yeah? How do I know that?” The pliers make such a noise hitting the wood it startles them both. “If this is to free me up so I can sleep with Mark, don’t bother. ‘Cause it’s never gonna happen.”

“It has nothing to do with that. I own an apartment over there. I want to legally sign it over to the friend who's been living there and picking up my mail.”

“You don't have to go there to accomplish that,” he says with cautious triumph, but then his eyes fill with worry. “Are you…are you leaving me?”

“No. I need to tie up some loose ends that are years old now.” That’s true, but there’s much more to it than that. For one, she needs to sort out why she’s turned Mark into an absentee third wheel. Second, she needs to get away from Eduardo, because sometimes she sees a heavy sorrow in his eyes that reminds her of her own and it’s too much. “I’m doing it for us, if you can believe it.”

“I’m having a hard time, actually.”

“You shouldn’t.” She tries to sound positive and hopeful. “When I come back we’ll start over.”

“We have no reason to start over. Not after all the shit we’ve been through.” He turns to leave the room, and she panics because this can't turn into another New Mexico.

“Don’t turn your back on me.”

“I’m not turning my back on you,” he says tiredly. “I’m getting my fucking keys.”

He drives her to the airport and gives her a cold, perfunctory kiss goodbye but then clutches her close and doesn’t give a shit that he’s crying in public.

When he calls her mobile later that day, it vibrates on the bedroom nightstand where she left it.

 

* * *

 

He throws himself back into work and almost doesn't hear the knocking on the front door. Once he hears it he ignores it, but whole minutes pass and it doesn't stop. 

It's Mark on the front step, with a Chinese patterned cachepot of spring bulbs about to bloom. 

“Hi. Um, these are for Lisbeth.”

“She's not here.”

“Oh. Can I come in?” He seems determined to say or do whatever he came to accomplish, so Eduardo relents. Mark sets the flowers on a little entryway table. “This is a really nice house.”

“Thanks.” This is the last thing on earth Eduardo wants, the last person he wants to see. 

Mark’s eyes dart around looking for chairs or someplace to stage this, but lacking any good options he dives right in. “I came here to apologize for what I did. After that first attack on the site...I was upset. Since day one I've called Lisbeth some awful things. I especially feel bad that I probably ruined things with your family and I'm sorry.”

Eduardo nods slowly. “Thanks.”

“That's it? I can't believe you're not going to yell at me.”

“Well, it's not that big of a loss. Our relationship hasn't been great for a long time.” Maybe someday he will examine where it started, but it doesn't feel important anymore. “If you’re expecting reciprocation, I’m not entirely sorry for what Lisbeth did.”

“That’s fine. I didn’t expect an apology.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone it was her?”

“Because it implies your involvement, which is bad for business and embarrassing for me personally. Where is she, anyway?”

“Stockholm. Tying up some loose ends or something.”

“Oh.”

“It's funny. You're both so jealous of each other it's eating you alive,” Eduardo says sadly. “The longer it goes on the less I think it has to do with me.”

“Okay. It’s been weird for me that she has you _and_ that level of hacking chops,” Mark admits. “But I haven't been pining after your ass all this time. I've tried dating and stuff, it just never works out.” A little smile twists at his mouth. “Like, I stole an intern from Sean on principle, but it turned out she was crafty and I couldn't handle it.”

“Crafty,” Eduardo repeats. “Like Lisbeth crafty or Martha Stewart crafty?”

“Definitely the latter.”

Eduardo relaxes a little. “Like what did she do?”

“She was always taping crap to my desk. Like at Thanksgiving she made little pilgrim hats and turkey decorations, but Hanukkah pushed me over the edge 'cause she made, like, a hundred origami dreidels but she's Presbyterian or something.”

Eduardo can’t help but smile.

Mark relaxes, too. “Right now I'm kind of into this guy Chris introduced me to, but he lives on the east coast so that complicates things.”

“I hope it works out.”

“Thanks. Me too.” He bites his lip and looks away. “You know what I think about sometimes? How young we were. It wasn't all that long ago, but...I feel so much older now.”

“Yeah,” Eduardo sighs. It’s the understatement of the year. “Me too.”

“Before this gets too depressing, Dustin told me some of your ideas. Like the one about tiered-use advertising, and I especially like the idea of relocating the servers someplace arctic. Maybe we could go to lunch and talk about it sometime.”

“This feels like a 'keep your friends close and your enemies closer' kind of thing.”

“No,” Mark says simply. “I thought about it a lot, and despite what recent events might suggest…we're not enemies.”

His eyes are clear and honest, and Eduardo decides this is okay, that maybe they can do this. “You want to see the rest of the house?”

Mark nods and deferentially follows him on the tour.

 

** STOCKHOLM, SWEDEN **

 

The familiarity of the city is deeply comforting and the week lapses fast.

Lisbeth finds that Mimmi has a girlfriend – a very serious one, in fact. After the same it's-too-much, you're-too-generous rigmarole they danced through when she informally transferred the apartment the first time, she has the paperwork drawn up to put the Lundagatan flat in both of their names.

They go out for drinks to celebrate. The new girlfriend is pert, blonde, and not jealous in the least. “How long were you two together?” she asks, and Mimmi snorts.

“We were never really together.”

“It was more an on-again off-again situation,” Lisbeth says, and shakes her head when Mimmi adds _mostly off._ Mimmi goes on to jokingly list Lisbeth's deficiencies as a girlfriend – it's very tongue-in-cheek and Lisbeth finds it funny, too, but it doesn't escape her that these would also be Eduardo's complaints. Particularly the one about disappearing.

The obligatory shit-taking ends and the actual catching up begins. “So what's it like?” Mimmi asks. “America, I mean.”

“Enormous.” Lisbeth doesn't provide much detail about her recent stateside adventures, but she does admit to being more or less happy. It's good to see how happy Mimmi is, and the new girlfriend watches closely when she speaks and often smiles a nanosecond before Mimmi says something clever. Their affection isn’t cloying or obnoxious, but they’re deeply in tune with each other.

Lisbeth wonders what she and Eduardo look like from the outside. She also wonders whether he’s found her phone yet…she hadn’t actually meant to leave it behind but doubts he’d believe that if she told him. She called from the airport when she first arrived to say that she made it and she loves him, but now it doesn’t feel like enough.

An outside eye would easily judge her as the half who cares less, which stings a bit and makes her want to do better, not for the outside eye but for him.

 

* * *

 

In the morning she meets Blomkvist for coffee. He looks older than she remembers, and she wonders what kind of warped Electra complex drove her to sleep with him and even love him once. It's good to see him, though. She gives him a cursory sketch of her travels and current relationship, and he talks about Millennium successes and his daughter.

She zones out a bit when he talks about some project of Berger's, but snaps to attention when she sees curls in her periphery – it can't be, but it is. He should be on another continent, in another hemisphere, but he's fucking _here._

“Hi,” Mark says, knocking on the wooden tabletop like it's a door. “Can I talk to you?”

Lisbeth can't fucking believe it's him and gives her blankest stare. “Not now.”

“Okay. When?”

“I...I don't know.” How had he found her? Was Eduardo with him?

Blomkvist butts in, in Swedish. “Is he bothering you?”

“No, it's fine,” Lisbeth says.

Blomkvist doubtfully asks, “Is that... _him?”_

“No.” 

God, no. Mark sits at the empty table next to them and stares, and it's so uncomfortable Lisbeth decides to get it over with. “Excuse me a minute,” she says to Blomkvist, and moves to sit across from Mark. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“How did you find me?”

“Easy. My hacking's world class when I apply myself - I've never been your proper adversary because I'm too busy,” Mark says with a smug smile. “You wanna introduce me to your dad so he'll quit glaring at me?”

“That's not my father.”

“And I speak English,” Blomkvist adds coldly.

Mark notes Lisbeth's irritation and starts talking fast. “Wardo doesn't know I'm here. Listen...” He looks uncomfortable, then a little upset. “I don't think you understand what this has been like for me. I carried a private torch for him that no one ever would have known about until you found out. Using methods as shitty and underhanded as mine, I might add, but do you even know how humiliating that was? To get caught, and by _you_ of all people?” He hasn’t broken eye contact once. “I want you to know I'm over him. If we were meant to work out, we would have. Like, years ago.”

“You didn't think so when you watched him like a creep. Or when you reserved the right to think I'm a bitch. Or did the awful thing with the desk.”

“Yeah, well, full disclosure,” Mark says. “I've been an asshole and a manipulative dick, and...”

“It's hardly a disclosure if I already know.” 

“Whatever, okay? I'm trying to apologize and fix shit.”

“Then do.”

“Okay.” Mark drums his fingers for a few seconds and collects his thoughts. “This has been nothing but destructive for all of us, and I’m sorry for the things I've said and the problems I've caused both of you.”

She believes him, and maybe even forgives him a little. “Thank you.”

“He's driving himself nuts working on that house because he thinks if it's perfect you'll somehow come back. You are coming back, right?” 

Lisbeth doesn't answer.

“He wants to marry you. You'd be an idiot not to.”

Lisbeth forgets Mikael even exists, even though he's sitting right there with the steely eyes and curiosity so strong it's palpable. “I might,” she says. “Although I may not be worthy.”

“I don't know what you're getting at.”

“You said I was temporary because I didn't know what he thinks about when he can't sleep.”

“Oh.” Mark looks into the grain of the table. “He thinks about a parade he saw when he was four years old. He sat up high on his father's shoulders and he still remembers all the floats, even after all this time.”

It's so unbelievably sweet Lisbeth can't stop a slow smile.

“I know, right? You should ask him about it when you get back. You are going back, right?” Mark nudges her gently with his toe under the table. “Dude. I took three days off of work to come get you. This is a big deal is for me.”

Lisbeth kicks him back. This is insane; it feels like flirting, almost. She almost _likes_ him right now.

“Come on. I'll buy your ticket if you fly back with me tomorrow.”

Like money matters. “I might hang out with you on layovers but I don't want to sit by you on the plane.”

“Fine. Be at the Arlanda Lufthansa check-in no later than eight.” He gets up and pushes his chair back in. “One more thing. I wondered if you'd ever consider working for me. I think you'd be a good white hat hacker, you know? Doing pen tests and shit to find out what our vulnerabilities are. I'm not too popular with Anonymous for some reason and it makes me nervous.” 

“I’ll think about it. Wait, actually, I’m glad we’re talking about this. I’m working on a program you might be interested in. We can talk about it tomorrow.”

“Okay,” he says, and gives her shoulder an awkward little pat. “See you in the morning.”

Lisbeth slides back into her seat across from Mikael, who wears a coy smile. 

“Don't give me that look,” she says.

“I'm not trying to give you any sort of look, but you can't stop me from wondering what the hell just happened.”

 

** SAN FRANCISCO **

 

She doesn't have a key and has to knock to be let in, and she's almost afraid Eduardo's not home when the door finally swings open. He's in baggy shorts and an old t-shirt torn at the hem.

“You're early.” He takes both bags from her hands and she shrugs, hoping it will convey something she can't quite articulate herself. “Sorry I’m such a slob, I thought I had three more days to get my shit together. Hey, follow me to the kitchen for a sec. The stove’s on and I don’t want to burn the house down.”

She walks behind him and closer toward the smell of browning chicken and garlic. The ugly dark wallpaper in the hall’s been stripped to bare plaster and she notices a few pieces of furniture they didn’t own when she left.

The kitchen’s bright, with a cluster of new bananas on the counter and empty boxes cluttering one corner. Eduardo snaps the gas off and puts a lid on the pan. 

It’s a little tense; he’s a little cold. “How was your trip?”

“Uneventful. I signed my apartment over and saw a few old friends, but that was it.” She crosses her arms and gives him a synopsis of where things stand. “I have no plans to leave again, if you're worried, and I don't care about Mark anymore. It was irrational to hate him so much and fighting hasn't helped any of us.”

Eduardo nods. “Did you notice the flowers in the entryway?”

“No.”

“He brought them for you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. He came over a few days ago, and...we're going to try to be friends. Neither of us have any interest in anything else.”

She nods in acknowledgment and continues. “It’s no secret I've been depressed lately, but I think I’m starting to pull out of it. I have a side project to work on that I'm excited about, too.” She looks up to gauge how he feels. “So I suppose we can...you know. Be in love again.”

“Excuse me,” he says, and the beginnings of a smile tug at one corner of his mouth. _“Again?”_

“I meant still,” she says, and uncrosses her arms and lifts them up so he can wrap himself around her. They slowly warm up to each other again, and how she ever could’ve fled this makes no sense now.

Eduardo buries his nose in her hair. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too.” They sway a little, and she nestles even closer. “Now that I’m back, I want to help you work on the house. It looks like you’ve been busy.”

“I have.” He pulls back slightly and rings his fingers around her wrists in gentle handcuffs. “You wanna see my office?”

“Yeah.”

They backtrack to the entry hall and she sees Mark’s flowers. One or two stems are slightly past their prime, but they’re still lovely. The cachepot has intricate gold details and is probably the most decorative object they currently own. She might have to thank him.

“Get ready to have your mind blown,” Eduardo says, and opens the French doors to show her the room's total transformation. What started as white walls and scratched wood is now soft green with floorboards buffed to a honey-colored gloss. He's got a big dark desk, and the cordovan leather of his chair squeaks when he sits down. “Do I look important?”

“Yes, very.” She turns in a slow circle to admire it all. He's bought plants, a gorgeous Persian rug, and an antique bronze bankers lamp. Papers are already strewn all over the desktop. “What’s all this?”

“Um, so I wanna talk to you about something.” He clears his throat and avoids her eyes like he's delivering news she won't want. “I don’t have plans to die or anything, but if I don't name a beneficiary and something happens, everything goes to my parents.” He looks up, slightly troubled. “I want it to be you, but I promise you wouldn't be chained to me in any way. You could break up with me or run off to Sweden, or whatever you want. Of course I'd rather you didn't, but…I want you to have everything, even if we aren't together.” 

“I won't run off.”

“You can, though. You'd have total freedom.”

“Is that what all this is about?” She riffles through the papers, every page marked with a pale gray _DRAFT_ watermark. There's a Revocable Living Trust, Memorandum of Personal Property, Successor Trustee forms.... “I take it these weren't drawn up by your last lawyer.”

“No. I don't use her anymore. And yes, I know that sounded bad the minute I said it.”

She shakes her head in mock disgust and continues looking through the documents. Charitable Remainder Trust, Durable Power of Attorney... “Would it simplify things if we just got married?”

“Oh, um...I didn't think you'd ever want that.”

“Not for money, I wouldn't.” She raises a leg and slides into a side-sit on top of the papers. “But I’d do it for love.”

He pats his hands against his thighs, too shy to look at her.

“Eduardo,” she says, and it gives him chills because she never, ever says his name. “I want this to be permanent. Us. I want us to be permanent.” 

He looks up with dark and shining eyes. “You do?”

“Yes.” 

The papers slide across the desk as she scoots closer and he frames her face in his hands, gently opening her mouth with his own in a slow, soft kiss. “I wanna do it at the courthouse,” he says. “No party, nothing. Just us.”

“I want that, too,” she says, and patiently enjoys his kiss symmetry. Eyebrow eyebrow, cheek, cheek, mouth, and he looks at her with the same adoration he had when they were new. Lisbeth’s surer than ever that this is right: The jealousy and anger was an anchor that hurt everybody. The sadness isn't gone, but it lessens with time and when they’re together, because he feels it, too. She's going to say yes - to impulse, to love, to him.

Her stomach makes a horrible gurgle, and she remembers that her last meal was a wicked cookie sundae Mark bought her on a layover hours ago. “Sounds like you need to eat.”

“I do.”

“Okay. Just a minute…” He kisses her again. And again, and when he stops kissing her face long enough to break away and finish cooking, she takes her bags upstairs and finds that their bed isn’t made. She fluffs a deep divot out of Eduardo’s pillow and pulls off her boots…funny to think how she’s put them on on another continent, yet here she was, almost nine thousand kilometers away. 

Eduardo keeps the strip of old photo booth pictures tucked into the bureau mirror frame, and Lisbeth looks into the eyes of her former self in the fourth frame. She can’t remember what she wanted or expected back then, but suspects it might’ve been a bit shallower than what she actually has now. It’s nice to be so lucky.

She takes a roundabout route back to the kitchen, and knows which floors Eduardo’s worked on because they’re smooth as silk.

He’s stirring in front of the stove. “So with all the work I’ve done, I’d guess the value of this house has at least quadrupled since you left,” he jokes. “Still wanna buy it back from me?”

“Why should I? Half if it’s going to be mine.”

“Shit. I thought for sure you’d fall into my trap.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” she says. “I have.” She wraps her arms around his waist from behind and kisses where his tattoo is, and he reaches back to pat her hip.

“Good to have you home, smartass.”

She presses her nose to the center of his back and sighs. “It’s good to be back.”


End file.
